


Lost In Translation

by nerdybloomers



Series: 120 Drabble Challenge [9]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Friendship is Magic, Gay Bar, Gen, Pre-Series, Yuuri is a clueless dweeb, birthday fic, college fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 23:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8943061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdybloomers/pseuds/nerdybloomers
Summary: Language is a funny thing. If you don't understand an idiom, it can completely change your relationship with someone, or create one hell of a memory with them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Someone else headcanon'd that Yuuri was a dance major, so in my mind, that means he probably went to Wayne State. It's never said for sure that Phichit went to college with him, but I'd like to think they did and were roomies. So this fic is just a random backstory memory about their friendship and Yuuri being a foreign baby queer.
> 
> This fic fills prompt #29: Birthday in my prompt challenge, over here on my ancient dA: http://shibaayame.deviantart.com/art/120-Prompt-Challenge-250678524

Language is a funny thing.

It ties people together, brings people closer; but it can also confuse and scare and drive people apart. Misunderstandings can lead to wars if something is lost in translation. And if you don’t understand an idiom, it can completely change your relationship with someone, or create one hell of a memory with them.

Yuuri remembers the first time he truly encountered a language barrier: an embarrassing encounter while out with Phichit. His best friend, roommate, and colleague was ever the social butterfly on campus, seeking out the local nightlife every weekend. Yuuri, on the other hand, usually stayed back in their dorm room to study, or went to the nearby rink for practice.

“But it’s your birthday, Yuuri,” Phichit pleaded, turning on a pout and big brown puppy eyes. “There’s nothing to do on campus because anyone who’s anyone is home on Thanksgiving break. Let’s go out! The ice will be there in the morning.”

So with a sigh, and a glance at the clock across the rink - 9:27 PM, where did Phichit want to go this late? A diner or something? - he allowed himself to be practically pulled from the locker room after showering, shoving his gear in the back of Phichit’s beat up Dodge Neon and  - south to Warrendale, over to a nightclub. Judging by the pounding bass from outside, and Phichit’s thousand-watt grin, tonight was going to be interesting.

But it turns out that it’s not too bad. He’s read horror stories of what can happen to an impressionable young man in gay clubs, but the crowd at Gigi’s seems a little more focused on having a good time and enjoying the music than stalking prey for a one-night stand. Yuuri lets himself relax, following Phichit to the dance floor, and lets the beat from the speakers drown out his mind.

After an hour or so, and a thin coating of sweat from the combination of physical exertion and body heat, Phichit looks over his roommate’s shoulder and nods his chin toward the bar - even after years in America, the guy is still one-hundred percent Thai - and they go over for a drink. The bartender stirs up a couple of cocktails for the two of them, straightens his neon tee shirt, then writes something down and sets it under Yuuri’s drink before ducking into the back.

Phichit’s face lights up like a kid in a candy store. “Oh my god! Did he give you his number? You sly fox!”

“Yeah,” Yuuri breathes, embarrassed and slightly shaky. The guy was cute, for sure, but nobody’s ever been quite so direct with him before. He unfolds the note, shaking condensation off of it, and frowns.

That’s not the expression Phichit expects. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t get it…?” Yuuri adjusts his glasses, just in case he read it wrong. Nope, still doesn’t make sense. There’s a name and a number, but the part below it is a mystery. “ ‘I’d love to toss your salad’? They don’t even serve salads here.”

The next thing he knows, Phichit is absolutely roaring with side-splitting laughter, and it hits him like a freight train: It’s a euphemism, one that Yuuri doesn’t know but Phichit does, and now he feels like an idiot.

“Yuuri, oh my god, Yuuri, he wants to sleep with you. You mean you’ve never seen that before?” And then his ever-present smartphone is out and in his best friend’s face, showing an Urban Dictionary definition, because his Thai friend can’t get enough air to explain it himself.

Oh.

Oh _my_.

Morbid curiosity guide’s Yuuri’s finger to click a related term; he snorts, and then hands the phone back to Phichit - who sees the related phrase “tongue-punch his fartbox” and loses it all over again. But this time Yuuri is laughing with him, and someone else at the bar shoots them a look that seems to ask if they’re on drugs, and then they laugh harder at each other. When both drinks are empty, they make their way back out onto the dance floor until they’re tired enough to leave.

On the way home, Yuuri drags Phichit to an open-late pizza joint for a bite. “Because the American government says pizza is a salad, and those get tossed,” and the staggering, giggling pair knows they had a hell of a night.

“Happy birthday, Yuuri,” Phichit offers halfway through a slice. “I don’t think you could’ve gotten a better present than a cute bartender’s number.

Yuuri pauses, then takes another bite of crispy crust. “You know, I think I left his number on the bar.” He snickers. “Phichit, I don’t know if I can go back there now! What if he thinks I snubbed him? Oh my god.” He’s in stitches. They get another confused glance, this time from the girl at the counter. Yuuri drops his head and bows in mock atonement. “I know that Mondays are college night, but I am far too ashamed.”

“I forgive you, child,” Phichit spits out between giggles, trying his best to keep a stern face and failing miserably. “We’ll just go to Gold Coast next time.”

**Author's Note:**

> A tiny bit of context: Wayne State is in Midtown, Gigi's isn't actually all that far away AND does do college mondays for no cover with a college ID.
> 
> I'd like to think that Yuuri and Phichit probably skate at Oak Park, or Arctic Edge, which is Moir/Virtue and Davis/White's home rink. For the purpose of this fic, Yuuri's probably skating right after freestyle night on Mondays at Arctic Edge.


End file.
